


Another Day Survived

by jj-heart (myjoyandcomfort)



Series: A Lost Niece [2]
Category: Chilling Adventures of Sabrina (TV 2018)
Genre: Family Feels, Gen, Grief/Mourning, Hopeful Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Loss, Zelda has a bad way of coping, also how could anyone refuse the sweet Hilda?, at some point Zelda and Hilda curl up on Sabrina's bed, but a hurting Zelda is a different kind of witch, nothing too descriptive, that might be a stretch, the sisters support each other through the grief
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-14
Updated: 2021-02-14
Packaged: 2021-03-15 14:20:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29437425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/myjoyandcomfort/pseuds/jj-heart
Summary: Laughter has become an unfamiliar sound in the Spellman mortuary. Ever since Sabrina’s passing, all joy has vanished, and a grim atmosphere has taken over.// The story is set after part 4. Zelda's POV //
Relationships: Ambrose Spellman & Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Dr. Cerberus/Hilda Spellman (minor), Hilda Spellman & Zelda Spellman, Sabrina Spellman & Zelda Spellman
Series: A Lost Niece [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2162277
Comments: 11
Kudos: 14





	Another Day Survived

**Author's Note:**

> This story is loosely based on my one-shot "The Last Three Spellmans". There are some references in it, but you are still able to follow the story without reading the previous one.
> 
> The Spellman family deals with the loss of Sabrina. Each member in their own way. While the grief consumes them at times, there are shimmers of improvement making their way to its surface. Like soft smiles or even laughter.

Laughter has become an unfamiliar sound in the Spellman mortuary. Ever since Sabrina’s passing, all joy has vanished, and a grim atmosphere has taken over.

Zelda is sure she has unlearned how to laugh or even smile.

She does not mean to laugh, but her brother-in-law and his goofiness catch her off guard. Under normal circumstances, she would have huffed and rolled her eyes. But the comedy lies in the situation.

Dr. Cee stumbles over his own feet. The cup of tea in his hands flies through the kitchen. It happens in slow motion. His arms stretch from his body as he lets the cup drop.

It is so unexpected that Zelda escapes a laugh. Her voice sounds hoarse and produces a sound she thinks would never be heard again.

The cup is broken, but it is nothing a simple spell would not be able to fix.

“Everything alright, love?” Hilda asks, immediately jumping up from her chair.

When Dr. Cee looks up, a smile spreads across his face. He does not take himself too seriously.

Dr. Cee assures his wife of his well-being. He leaves the kitchen with a wave at both of them, picking up the lunch Hilda has prepared for him.

Soon after she sits down at her usual chair at the table and sighs. She pours Zelda a cup of coffee and then a cup of tea for herself. It is Hilda’s second or third cup. Maybe the tea contains the special ingredient again. Its familiar scent does not fill the kitchen. The smell of freshly baked biscuits could overpower it.

“Don’t look at me like that, Zelds,” Hilda huffs frowning at her sister.

“Like what?” Zelda tilts her head.

“I stopped spiking the tea with – you know what.” Hilda whispers, afraid that Dr. Cee might still be in earshot. “I meant what I said. I don’t want Dr. Cee to find out.”

“Yes.”

Both Ambrose and she have promised to keep the secret of the calming ingredient Hilda used to put in her tea. The ingredient helps with dealing with grand emotions and numbs you. It is highly addictive and dangerous if not used with caution. “Better stick to the less addictive poison,” Zelda suggests, lighting the first cigarette of the day.

Hilda clicks her tongue. “It’s a nasty habit and you know it.”

Zelda rolls her eyes at the remark. Too often they have had this discussion. Smoking cannot kill a witch. Unlike the poor mortals whose lungs are not able to handle the smoke.

“But it wouldn’t be you without it,” Hilda smirks. It is a nice change for Hilda’s teasing side to shine through. It is unfamiliar like the laughter uttered just moments before. These light moments are a welcome diversion from... everything.

Zelda avoids the right part of the table; her morning paper covers the fact there is no plate on this side of the table. She pushes the image of another blonde curly person aside by looking to her left and finds a welcome and comforting sight. Her familiar, Vinegar Tom, is safe in his basket. He is never alone, often shadowed by his new best friend, Salem. The cat wants to join the dog in his basket, taking up more space than necessary.

“Salem, do not hog Vinegar Tom like that. He needs air to breathe,” Zelda scolds the cat. The two familiars have gotten along in the past weeks, forming an even closer bond since Sabrina’s passing.

There are the dark thoughts she wanted to avoid. Even though Salem is the most hopeful sign they have received since the dreadful event. The cat has not passed; he is not even weakened. It is their sign of hope. Though no one says it out loud. It is a silent agreement between all the remaining Spellmans. As long as no one addresses it, the shimmer of hope can stay true.

Vinegar Tom does not mind Salem close to him. Zelda averts her gaze back to her sister. Hilda's eyes dart to the doorway, to the stairs in the entrance hall. Dr. Cee has just left, so there is only one other person she can wait on.

“I don’t think he’s coming down,” Zelda says and takes a long puff of her cigarette.

Hilda nods absentmindedly. “Well, at least, you’re here.” She touches Zelda’s left wrist, resting her hand there.

“You forced me.” When Hilda raises her eyebrows, Zelda adds, “You don’t even have to say anything. One glance is enough. People say my looks can kill, but they haven’t seen yours.”

Hilda lets it pass, waving it off with a hand. She says, “Before you disappear behind your morning paper, I have few tasks for today.”

Zelda sighs at that and takes a huge sip of her coffee. She needs it for the next part of their new morning routine. Hilda gives Zelda a to-do-list. She expects her sister to listen and play along. So that is what Zelda does.

“I need you to go to the Academy. See if there’s anything that needs taken care of. You haven’t been there in a couple of days and... you should check up on the children.”

Hilda knows how to make Zelda do things. By appealing to her sense of responsibility. Yes, these witches and warlocks are young, but certainly not incapable of taking care of themselves. “Alright.”

“And then-“ Hilda bites her lips. “The erm- the graves probably need some fresh flowers.”

Zelda swallows hard. This minor task is actually major and will require a lot of strength to handle. She cannot refuse her sister and argue about it. Not when this also means she fails the dead ones. “...Okay.”

“And- it’s a big house. You know dusting is always an issue. There’s dinner. Or- you’ll find something to do. Anything, Zelda. _Anything_ helps.” Hilda says with some urgency. She doesn’t want Zelda to wallow, so she keeps her busy with these tasks. It is code for _Do not hide in a room and cry_. Zelda gets the sub-message.

Right then, the phone rings. Hilda gets up to take the call. Zelda picks up the paper, Russian this time, and dives into the world’s silly problems. It distracts her from her own set of issues. Distraction is an effective coping mechanism.

“You’ve got more work,” Hilda says when she returns. Zelda lowers her paper. “We have a new dead person coming in today. I have to be at the bookshop, so I need you to handle it. All of it.”

Zelda nods to that, continuing to read her newspaper. Taking care of the family business is another way to distract herself and avoid anything that could remind her of Sabrina or her passing. Though it is easier said than done. The morgue is the last place Zelda saw her niece’s body. They had a last private goodbye before they held the funeral a couple of weeks ago. It was the last four Spellmans in one room, holding hands like a family and being together as the four-person coven they have created. Now, they are a three-person family. Though, one of its members has been shutting himself out for the last couple of weeks. Usually, it is Ambrose who takes care of this side of the mortuary. But now he rarely leaves his room.

After managing the paperwork with the family members, Zelda prepares the body in the morgue. She has not handled the tools in ages, but she is still skilled enough to not mess up. It helps that you cannot kill this person with a misplaced cut.

She has no other company than her thoughts. There are her memories and her pain. And a task to occupy herself with.

Zelda handles the scalpels, knives, and other tools with ease and... one could use them on themselves. In very pleasing ways even. She has promised Hilda to stay alive, but they have never talked about hurting herself. It has worked in the past. So maybe...

Vinegar Tom interrupts her thought when he enters the room and barks at her.

“Stop following me,” Zelda hisses at him. Her familiar catches her in action. She has no doubt he will tell on her. His loyalty is not entirely bound to her.

Zelda looks at the blade of the knife and runs her fingers over it. It is sharp; it could easily cut through her skin and not just through the dead person’s skin.

Again, the dog barks, more forcefully this time, reminding her of what is important and threatening to tell Hilda about it. Even if Vinegar Tom is not here, Hilda will find out about it; she always finds out about these things.

And causing her sisters more pain... She cannot do that to her. Hilda shoulders enough already.

“Stop! I won’t do it.” Zelda closes her eyes to take a moment to recollect herself. “I promise, Vinegar Tom.”

It is tempting but for her sister’s sake she will find another way to cope. Hilda keeps up a brave face. For Zelda. For Ambrose. She buries herself in work at the bookshop and with most of the housework. She constantly bakes. There are always freshly baked goods in the kitchen. Their scent fills the entire house. Causing Hilda more pain is out of the question. Zelda lays the knife aside.

Besides, hurting oneself was Faustus’ way. He taught and encouraged her. Like so many other things, he was wrong about that too. There is another way.

“You can go now,” Zelda tells her familiar. “I’m fine here alone. Besides, I have company.” Zelda refers to the dead body at hand. But Vinegar Tom is not convinced and stays. “If you insist.” She sighs and adds, “But be quiet!”

Her familiar remains quiet; even when suddenly preparing the dead body is not enough distraction from her pain. She tries to blink the tears away, but eventually, they shed down her cheeks. There is no use in fighting it. She has to interrupt the work, takes off the gloves, and buries her face in her hands. It is the first time she has cried today. The first shedding of tears is usually the worst. She has managed to keep the tears in for most of the morning. It must be a new record.

“How did we end up here, Tom? So little time with her,” Zelda whimpers. “I don’t know how to get over this.”

Zelda has faced losses before. Her parents. Her brother. Even her beloved familiar, but this one weighs differently on her. Vinegar Tom points that out to her.

“Yes, you are my soulmate,” she assures him. “But she- Mothers and daughters are different. The bond is sacred.”

The bond is broken, irreversible. Zelda catches her breath, trying to calm down and to not drown in the sea of her pain.

When the phone rings it is a welcome wake-up call. Zelda runs up the stairs to take it. There is only one person who calls at this time of the day. It is Hilda. It is always Hilda, who checks in on her over the day.

“Spellman Sisters’ Mortuary. This is Zelda.” She keeps to proper phone etiquette even though Hilda is on the other end of the line.

“It’s me,” Hilda says.

“Hildegard, please, stop calling me!” Zelda says more harshly than intended. She wipes the rest of her tears away as if Hilda could see the wetness under her eyes.

“Did you hydrate, Zelds? You forget when you’re working. Go to the kitchen and have at least a glass of water. Or some tea. There are biscuits too,” Hilda says unimpressed by her sister’s remark.

“Sister,” Zelda argues, but it falls on deaf ears.

“Or you could always have a sandwich. Get some food into you.”

“Is there anything else you wanted?” Zelda asks, growing more impatient with her sister by the second.

“I just wanted to check in. How far along is the body?”

“Almost done.”

“Good. I also think you should go to the Academy. I heard there was some business to take care of.”

“I will,” Zelda says and hangs up. There is no need to prolong this conversation. She does not go into the kitchen as Hilda suggested, but returns to the morgue to finish the preparation of the body.

Without any interruptions by her sister or her own emotions, the task is easily taken care of. Soon enough, she takes a shower to get rid of the smell of the dead off herself. She puts on makeup and slips on a simple black dress. When she heads back to Academy, she wants to look presentable. Like her old self.

Duty calls; she cannot refuse it any longer. Her heels echo through the mortuary and a spell later, they hit the hardwood floor in her office at the Academy.

On her desk, the papers pile up. She flips through the pages and adds a signature where needed.

She cannot escape her duties. She has taken them on and now she must pull through. In the good and the bad times. She doesn’t trust anyone else to take her duties on and carry them out to her standards.

Zelda is deep in paperwork, she has not paid attention to the time, when the doors flung open, and Prudence enters.

“Directrix Spellman,” Prudence says in surprise. “What a delight to see you. Are you back for longer? Shall I gather the whole coven for-“

“No need, Prudence. My visit is of short nature.”

“I see. We eagerly await your permanent return, Sister Spellman.”

The students and the coven long for her return. Zelda knows how much the Academy and the coven need her. At times, she feels a tugging at her conscience, but the pain of her loss still overweighs the sense of duty. She will return fully... eventually. Her students need her.

She has to give them something to look forward to. A deadline is needed. Zelda has put thought into this one before but never said it out loud.

“Winter Solstice is coming up and I think in the new year we can resume a more regular schedule,” Zelda says. A new year for a new beginning seems fitting.

Prudence’s eyes light up. “I will pass the news to the rest of the Academy. They will be delighted to hear it.”

“Of that I am sure.” Zelda offers a weak smile.

“If I could trouble you with some minor issues before that...”

Zelda swallows. She wants to be in and out of the Academy as fast as possible. The longer she is here the stronger the feeling gets that a key student is amiss.

“What is it that cannot wait?”

“I’m afraid, you must see it for yourself.”

They walk down the corridor of the Academy. Prudence leads the way with a half-step ahead of Zelda. She turns her head over her shoulder as she speaks.

“May I ask, how is Ambrose? He hasn’t been returning any of my attempts to reach out and- I still care about him.”

“Ambrose needs a little time... it’s difficult. He is coping as best as he can.”

“Would you mind telling him that we are here for him? I mean, _all of us_ at the Academy. Not just me.” Prudence deflects.

Zelda has no idea how things are between her nephew and Prudence. Apparently, they have no idea themselves.

Prudence guides them to the main hall of the Academy. As soon as she sets her eyes on the taller statue in the hall, the issue that has occurred is evident.

“How long has this been going on?”

Hecate’s eyes are glowing. They are not by any means in a real flash, but there is a dim light in the statue’s eyes.

“For a couple of weeks. It has always been there, but sometimes it gets more intense,” Prudence explains.

“Does it amplify when you pray?”

“No. We tried to find a connection. A cause, but we did not notice anything. We thought, maybe you know more?”

“Thank you for bringing it to my attention, Prudence. I do not believe it is anything to worry about.”

The glow in the stare of the Three-In-One’s eyes is hypnotic.

“Would you mind giving me a moment alone?” Zelda asks, not averting her gaze from the statue.

“Of course, Directrix Spellman.” Prudence leaves the hall.

Zelda takes a step closer to her goddess’ similitude. Her presence is captivating. Zelda has not given up on their new goddess, not completely, but her belief is challenged after Sabrina’s death.

“Dark Mother, what are you trying to tell us?” She moves around the statue and finds every pair of eyes glowing.

“Or is this your way to luring me back in? To remind me of my duty? Are you showing me the path of recovery? You must know I am not ready. I need some more time. It is still too soon after-“ She tears up. Her vision becomes blurry. “Why?” So often Zelda has uttered that question. Her gaze wanders to the other statue which she has not seen since its unveiling. Her girl. “Why my daughter?”

She looks at the goddess expectantly and is stunned when Hecate’s eyes flash. It is so momentary that she could have missed it.

It’s an answer. Or so Zelda thinks.

“I understand.” She rebuilds the trust in the Goddess. Hecate answers her prayers, hears her, but she still has not come to her rescue in her greatest need. “I _will_ serve you with all my heart very soon, Dark Mother. I will honor your three phases.”

Zelda lights a candle at Sabrina’s statue, touching the statue’s feet. She has more faith in Hecate, now that she has shown herself. She does not know if it entails her daughter too, but she can hope.

She returns to her office. Her heart is heavy, and every so often she has to take a break from the paperwork. She is nearly finished, but then another wave of immense pain hits her.

Not talking to anyone is both good and does her no good at all. Being in her own head means she has enough time to linger in the dark thoughts. She is in the same depressing mental state she has been in the last couple of weeks.

Even before Sabrina’s passing, she has been worried sick for her niece. Ever since Sabrina vanished from her birthday party and isolated herself. When they found her in the Mountains of Madness, they had to wait to return with a plan. It drove her nearly mad to sit still. Seeing her alive was a relief, but only for a second. Sabrina was worn-out with dirty clothes on her and the hair all messy. Dark circles under her eyes. It was not her Sabrina, not her little girl.

Zelda takes a deep breath and lights up a cigarette. She pushes her hair away from her forehead. The day has drained her. A look at the clock reveals that it’s later than expected. Zelda has almost finished her work here. The remaining matters do not seem as pressing. She can finish them another day.

As Zelda sits in her chair, there is no tension in her body. Her forearms lie limply at the armrest. The smoke of the cigarette is the only movement in the room. It does Zelda good to just be. She is too exhausted to even think. If only for the duration of a cigarette.

Vinegar Tom awaits her upon her return to the Spellman house. She kneels down to pet his head. “Come on, we still have something to do,” she whispers to him.

Zelda has saved the hardest task for last. She walks into the parlor to fetch flowers for her nieces’ graves. There are always flowers in this room. Hilda fills the many old vases.

As she plugs the red roses from a vase, he picture frame next to it catches her eye. They have never been in the habit of putting up a lot of pictures around the house. The concept of photography is still relatively new to her. It is only a couple of decades old. She prefers a good family portrait, but Sabrina has always been too impatient to sit still and pose. For Hilda’s wedding, however, they had a few pictures taken. One of them found a nice place in the parlor at one of the many side tables. In a thick golden frame, so the photograph catches your attention.

It seems fitting to have it put up especially now that the Mortuary is supposed to be Dr. Cee’s home. It is a way to make him feel welcome and part of the Spellman family, if only by marriage and for his short mortal life. In the picture, they are all smiles. The picture presents true happiness. Every single one of the people in it radiates joy. Hilda is stunning in her white wedding dress. She looks like a blushing bride as Dr. Cee stands tall and pound next to her. Ambrose has a protective arm around his cousin. Sabrina is like her usual feisty self with her hand at her hip. And then there is Marie.

Zelda sighs as she runs a finger over the photograph. They are like a picture-perfect family. Complete. She cannot recognize herself anymore. She is at ease with her life and the people in it. A proud sister and High Priestess.

She averts her gaze; the tears collect already in her eyes and are ready to be shed.

It is times like these when the pain of losing Sabrina and the betrayal of Marie, of Baron Samedi, hit her at the same time. It is a lot. Sometimes, it is too much for her to handle. She has buried most of her feelings about Marie. The Eldritch terrors preoccupied her. Then there was the worry about Sabrina, and ultimately her death.

Processing everything at once is impossible. So, Zelda pushes Marie aside and does not acknowledge it. What is done is done. At least in romantical ways she is able to look at it like that. Loves come and go, but family is forever. Nieces do not come and go. They are meant to enter your life and stay there permanently.

After putting on her furry coat, she takes the flowers outside. Vinegar Tom is at her heels. Her step gets heavier the closer she gets to the graveyard and the two big gravestones. The tombstones of her daughters. That distance between the house and the stones is always hard to pass. Standing at their grave makes it real.

As soon as she arrives at the gravestones, she holds onto the cold one that belongs to Sabrina Spellman. It is the Sabrina she refers to as the real one.

“My girl,” Zelda gasps between tears. “My beautiful girl, you still had so much to do.”

Moral support comes not only from Vinegar Tom, but Salem has joined them as well.

“Hecate, Dark Mother, be her guard. Guide her on the path to the afterlife and take care of her while we stay in this realm.”

Zelda puts the dark red roses at each of the tombstones and then lights a candle each. Infused with a little magic, so the cold wind does not douse them. She brings her hand to her heart. The ache is at a high as she stands above her nieces` graves. She falls down on her knees; suddenly her legs are too weak to support her weight. The two familiars are immediately at each of her sides. Both of their furs are soft under her fingers.

“Thank Hecate for the both of you,” Zelda says; not sure if she means the familiars or the two Sabrinas.

The weak moment does not last long. It is too cold to stay out here forever. The wind messes up Zelda’s hair. The setting sun leaves her to the cold winter temperatures.

The day passes by. She has fulfilled all her daily tasks. They have done their job of making sure another day goes by.

At night, she longs for a drink. She has always longed for a nightcap, but now it is one of the few things to keep her sane and grounded.

Zelda sits down on an armchair in the parlor, next to the side table on which she left her bottle of liquor. An abounded glass is still next to it. She pours some into the glass and takes a sip. The liquid burns down her throat. Instantly she is more at ease. Vinegar Tom hops onto her lap. She runs her fingers through his fur. He is barely leaving her side. He worries about her. Seeing his mistress in such distress is a trauma for him. Shared trauma. The feeling of not being alone in this helps. Vinegar Tom understand Zelda. There is no need to explain herself.

The Mortuary is calm until Hilda and her husband return home from work. Hilda locks eyes with her for a moment. Her gaze wanders across the room and then she makes a beeline for upstairs. Dr. Cee however joins her in the parlor, picking up a book instead of exchanging pleasantries. Zelda likes that about him.

Their peaceful gettogether gets interrupted not too long after when Hilda’s raised voice echoes down the stairs.

“Again?” Dr. Cee asks in a half-sigh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Hilda’s patience has definitely been on the shorter side lately. Especially with Ambrose who barricades himself in his room. The door to Ambrose’s room remains closed. Day-in and day-out. Night-in and night-out. Sometimes you can hear funny noises, rumblings even, but Ambrose is nowhere to be seen. Hilda is the only person allowed inside. If only to bring food. Every so often, the food delivery or any interaction between Ambrose and Hilda ends in Hilda yelling at their nephew. Just like tonight.

Heated arguments used to be Zelda and Sabrina’s thing. But now that Zelda’s counter partner is gone Hilda and Ambrose have taken over.

It is only now that Zelda understands how intense her and Sabrina’s fights must have been for the rest of the family. Though she has to admit, she also misses being challenged. She feels more alive in a good argument.

Hilda’s screams are somewhat audible in the parlor. Zelda gives a side-nod to Dr. Cee’s remark and lights another cigarette. This may get more intense. To her surprise, Dr. Cee has become pleasant company. There is no awkward small talk. With him, she could just be. Without judgement. Maybe he was still a little bit frightened of her too.

“We can’t blame them,” Zelda says and takes a deep puff of her cigarette.

“No...” Dr. Cee’s voice trails off. The tone suggests a but is on his tongue. He holds it back. Hilda and Ambrose’s behavior is not helpful for any of them.

Dr. Cee and Zelda endure the fight, which ends with a loud bang of a door. The screaming match of the evening is over. The stairs squeak as Hilda returns downstairs. She mumbles under her breath and walks to the kitchen.

Dr. Cee and Zelda exchange a brief look and relocate to the kitchen. Dr. Cee picks up the bottle of liquor for Zelda. While she carries in one hand her glass and in the other hand her cigarette holder.

In the kitchen, Hilda paces pack and forth. Neither Zelda nor Cee makes the mistake to ask her any questions. Otherwise, the argument would be picked up where it was left off.

Silently, Zelda sits down at her seat at the kitchen table and Dr. Cee sits down opposite of her. Finally, Hilda stops pacing and plops down at the chair. Zelda stares into the room and waits for Hilda to start a conversation when she is ready. Zelda almost forgets about her cigarette when Hilda leans in. Whenever her sister feels the need to take a puff of her cigarette, things are bad.

“Never give that up,” Hilda exhales.

Zelda takes another drag herself. She presses the thin roll between her lips. Hilda then reaches for Zelda’s glass of liquor, taking a big gulp. Yeah, things must be very bad indeed. Zelda hands the cigarette holder to Hilda, who takes it eagerly. Zelda has to admit the cigarette holder gives Hilda an edge. It suits her.

Dr. Cee gets up and fetches another two crystal glasses. He has lived long enough here to find his way around the kitchen and its many cabinets. Then he fills all three glasses up with the whisky. He raises his glass. A toast? How improper. Zelda arches an eyebrow.

“To another day we survived,” he offers.

Hilda smiles at him, raising her glass. Zelda follows suit. Indeed, they have survived another day; what an accomplishment. Sharing a glass with her sister and brother-in-law is a comfort. To all of them. They struggle all in their own way and they can share a way to cope.

“Time for dinner?” Hilda asks, narrowing her gaze at Zelda.

Zelda nods. It is only now she realizes she has not eaten anything all day. She is famished. Hilda like so often can see right through her.

“You have to eat, Zelda,” she sighs.

Again, Zelda nods. It is no point in arguing about that. Her sister is right.

While Hilda prepares their meal, she asks Zelda all sorts of questions about her day. She makes sure every task of her to-do-list is fulfilled. Hilda seems pleased with Zelda, even though Zelda has left out all the hard bits and pieces. Like every time she has broken down.

“Hecate’s statue is...” Zelda starts but then stops herself.

“What about her, love?” Hilda looks up from the pot.

Zelda shakes her head. “Nothing.” She should not get her sister’s hope up. She does not even know what the lights in their goddess’ statue mean. It could very well be nothing. She deflects and they have dinner filled with more talks about their day.

Dinner fills Zelda up with energy. Though her taste buds are nothing what they used to be. Everything tastes the same. She has to force herself to finish what is on her plate. Hilda though is content when she clears the table.

“He’s unbearable,” Hilda says. All three of them rest and digest. “It’s no use talking to him.” Yet, she tries and tries again. Ambrose cannot get any clearer about it. He wants to be left alone.

Hilda groans as she buries her face in her hands. Her head falls down to her chest. “Zelds, can you-,“ she asks when she uncovers her face.

Zelda raises her eyebrow.

“Please. I’m at my wit’s end and I can’t go on like this,” Hilda explains. “It kills me to see him that way. And I could not bear it if we lost another-“ She pauses, struggling for words. She eventually adds, “...child.”

That is well played on her sister’s end. The dead child card is effective.

“I’ll try,” Zelda gives in. Another of the many tasks Hilda loads onto her. As if her daily to-do-list is not long enough.

“Thank you,” Hilda says. Even Dr. Cee shoots her a smile.

Zelda cannot refuse her sister, so she finds herself soon after dinner in front of Ambrose’s door. She knocks.

“I said, leave me alone, Auntie,” Ambrose yells.

“Even if it is your Auntie Zee?” Zelda cracks the door open.

Inside the room there is chaos. A funny smell comes her way. She wrinkles her nose. The curtains at the windows are drawn and it’s hard to see through the darkness. Only a small lamp at his desk provides light in the room. Dressed in dirty clothes, Ambrose resembles a hermit. Well, he has been living that way, so it makes sense that he looks that way too.

Salem sits on a shelf and watches over Ambrose who bends over a couple of books and papers. Even before Sabrina’s passing, Salem and Ambrose got along. As the only two males in the house at the time, they bonded over Sabrina’s crazy plans.

“Before you say anything. I think I may have found a way to bring her back. It was quite obvious after I figured it out.”

Torn between curiosity and concern she eventually encourages him to explain his train of thought. She listens while letting her gaze wander through the room. The plan he describes is outrageous, dangerous, and has a very slim chance of success. Too slim that it would be worth the risk.

“Keep looking,” Zelda tells her nephew softly. “I know you’ll find something better.”

Zelda would end the same way if she would search for a way to bring her back. She would lose herself and go mad. This family could not use another mad one. One is enough.

“Why haven’t we tried anything yet, Auntie? I’ve given us so many options.”

“Because... “ The tears find their way back to her eyes. She pushes through. Why has she not done more? “Ambrose, there are certain boundaries we cannot cross. At least not by ourselves...” She hates that this partly because of her own pride and dignity. She does not want to face the person who offered their help.

“It’s Sabrina, Auntie. Why am I the only one who is looking for solutions?” Ambrose screams.

This conversation is not supposed to turn into Ambrose versus his auntie 2.0. Zelda’s mission is to calm him down and convince him to leave his room. She could throw his behavior in his face, judge the mess and make one or the other hurtful comment. It would be easy, but she will not. Not when he is in this state. The whole family is in such a fragile state.

Instead, Zelda will be honest with him. Open up to him in hopes that he opens up to her in return. “I’m heartbroken. Some days, I cannot even get out of the bed, much less look for ways to bring her back. Standing here dressed is an accomplishment today.”

It is true. Before Hilda moved in, she was paralyzed, only doing what she had to do. Now, that Hilda is here she is forced to get dressed, to eat, to follow a simple routine, and do her chores at the Coven, Academy, or Mortuary.

Ambrose lowers his head. That feeling must sound familiar to him. Not being able to do anything else than be, too caught up in his grief.

“I can understand if your Aunt Hilda and I are not the ones you want to talk to about your feelings. We are too close to... “ To everything. To Sabrina. Too wrapped up in their own feelings to cater to his grief. “There are other people worried about you. Prudence especially.”

Ambrose snorts.

“Do not push people away! They will not try forever,” Zelda hisses, falling back to her old self. ‘ _And then you will be sorry_ ,” she thinks ruefully from experience.

Ambrose shrugs. This has turned into a dressing-down quicker than expected. Maybe he needs it. They have always worked that way.

“And if you do not want to be here, then you can go. You are free now and I would understand if you decided to go somewhere else. Nothing is holding you here anymore.” Silence hangs between them. The thought of another Spellman leaving is unbearable.

“I might in the future,” Ambrose says. “But for now, I will stay here. My place is here.”

“Then act that way! Clean the room and open the windows! The smell in here is excruciating. Take a shower and for Hecate’s sake, change out of these clothes!” Zelda instructs him. “And from now on, you leave this room at least once a day. Are we clear?”

“Yes, Auntie.”

Another mission successfully accomplished. The days to come would show if he was a man of his word.

“Silly boy,” Zelda sighs.

“Still no man?”

“You?” She reaches out and gently caresses his cheek with the back of her fingers. “Never. Not to me. Not to your Aunt Hilda.”

Ambrose shoots her a weak smile and rests his head against his right hand. His whole posture is more relaxed and that is a win for Zelda. All is said and done. She closes the door to Ambrose’s room in hopes that tomorrow the door would open from the inside. And Ambrose would leave the room for a little while and live his life outside the dirty chaos.

On her way back to the world of her own four walls, she comes by Sabrina’s room. The door is open. Usually, the door is shut.

Zelda leans against the doorframe for support. The day has been long. Staring into this room strains the little energy, which remains within her.

The room still looks the same. Unchanged. As if its resident is not buried outside the house.

Zelda is not alone for far too long. Hilda passes by her. “Time for bed, “ she says, laying her hand on her upper arm.

“Mhmm,” responds Zelda. She indulges in gloomy thoughts about the room. If they would ever be able to change anything about it.

“We will leave it like that,” Hilda says as if she has read her mind.

Zelda steps into the room and inhales. The scent, the atmosphere, Sabrina’s spirit is still there. She sits down on the bed. The mattress dips under her weight. Zelda smooths over the bed covers. She is not sure if Hilda has washed them since Sabrina has passed.

“I come in here every morning. And I’m still surprised that she isn’t here,” Hilda reveals. “It’s stupid.”

“No, I come in every night.” Whenever she cannot fall asleep she comes in here and surrenders to her grief.

“Zelds, I wanted to say...” Hilda babbles. “I..” She takes another deep breath and finally says, “Thank you for being here for me.”

Zelda furrows her brows. Hilda must mistake things. Hilda is there for her and takes care of her and not the other way around.

“You do all the work, sister,” Zelda argues.

“You do way more than you think.”

“Like what?”

“Every task I throw at you for instance. I pass them to you because I can’t handle them anymore. While you make them happen with so little complaint. There are times during the day where all I can do is cry alone in a room. While you are just getting on with things.”

Zelda has misinterpreted everything Hilda has done in the past days and weeks. She thought Hilda made Zelda come out of her shell. When actually Hilda gave away responsibility because she was breaking down. Once again, Zelda is not as supportive of a sister as she has promised to be.

“Next time, you tell me how you feel.”

“I tell you all the time, you just won’t listen.” Hilda smiles in-between the sniffles.

“Right now, you are the most important person to me in this realm. I will do _anything_ to make you feel better. You just have to ask.”

“Would you mind lying down in her bed with me?”

To that, Zelda agrees easily, patting the spot next to her. They curl up in the bed, facing each other.

“I admire how you function. You seem the most capable out of the three of us.” Hilda says, turning to her left to face Zelda. A small gap between the sisters where Sabrina could fit.

“I feel like the weakest one.”

“No, you still carry out your duties. And I-“ Hilda pants for air. Her voice dies for a moment. “Sometime, well, all the times really, when her friends come to Doctor Cerberus’, I make Kenny wait the table. Because I still can’t-“ Hilda’s jaw clenches. “They ask for me and try to talk to me, but-“ She shakes her head. “I can’t.”

“I understand,” Zelda assures her sister. Whenever Zelda steps foot into the Academy and sees students enjoying their time, her heart drops. Sabrina should be with them. “It takes time.”

“I try to be patient, but...” There is urgency in her voice. “Anyway, I was thinking. Erm- Winter solstice is coming up and I’d like to try and summon her.”

The suggestion takes Zelda back to last year’s Yule. Sabrina contacted her mother, the Yule lads terrorized their house, and Gryla of all people wanted to steal the babe Zelda had technically stolen from Faustus. What a difference a year can make. It seems like a different world now.

Zelda rolls onto her back and stares at the ceiling. Is she ready to see Sabrina again? Hear her voice? She licks her lips before she answers, “We’ll discuss it with Ambrose.”

Breathing becomes more and more difficult. Zelda takes deep breaths to compensate. She is on the verge of a breakdown. She feels it coming. Hilda brings an arm around her middle and rests her head on Zelda’s shoulder. “You need a hug once a day,” Hilda tells her.

Being hugged feels good. A warm body against hers, the soft hair tickling her nose, the sweet scent of something else than the cold smoke of her cigarette. A blanket of comfort wraps around her.

“Remember when she had nightmares and asked one of us to stay with her?” Hilda whispers into Zelda’s hair.

“Yeah...” A gulp forms in her throat. She smiles weakly into the room. A tear rolls down her cheek. The memories make her feel the loss even more heavily. The images in her head start from a baby Sabrina, nothing but a bundle of joy in the dark times after Edward and Diana’s passing. Her cheerful self as a child, casting a spell on all the Spellmans with her smile. To her teenage years, a stubborn witch toying the line between what is right and what is dangerous.

Zelda suddenly gasps as she walks down memory lane. “I cannot remember the last time I told her I loved her.”

In the last year, Sabrina and she have argued most of the time. Always on the verge of another catastrophe.

“She knows,” Hilda assures her.

Zelda shakes her head. “I should have told her more often,” she insists. Sabrina is not the only stubborn witch in the family. She has learned it from her auntie.

“She knows how much you love her; how much we all love her.” Hilda grabs Zelda’s elbow.

“But what if she doesn’t?” Zelda breathes. These things should not be left unsaid.

“We’ll try to summon her for the Solstice and then you tell her.”

“And you tell her too.” Zelda clasps Hilda’s forearm, her thumb stroking back and forth over her sister’s skin. Only in the safety of Hilda’s arms she reveals her more personal thoughts. “I still feel her presence.”

“Well, we are in her room.”

“I sense her wherever I go, whatever I do. I long for her. There is this hole inside me. I constantly feel incomplete and not like myself.”

“I know,” Hilda says.

“I miss her, Hildie.”

“We all do.”

Zelda knows that. It is not only her loss. She is not alone with the pain; but some of the emptiness, the loss of purpose is her loss alone.

“She was supposed to take over. She was supposed to be my...” Heiress seems like an archaism, an ancient title. Zelda’s work was supposed to be taken over by Sabrina. It is her rightful place. She is the daughter of not only one, but two leaders of the coven. They have never discussed it, not explicitly. Not after the whole biological father reveal, which made Sabrina the Queen of Hell.

“Perhaps Ambrose can-“

Ambrose is a scholar. He has no desire for power or a leadership role. Not like Sabrina. Power attracts her.

“It was supposed to be Sabrina,” Zelda says.

Zelda has trained Sabrina to take over. Maybe not formally, but all these years of her upbringing have been preparation for a greater cause. To form and carve a young witch’s mind is a privilege which Zelda experiences every day at the Academy. But being involved in the early years, in their upbringing, is a far greater honor. Sabrina is her pride. Her joy. Her comfort.

She is not just her niece. Or her responsibility. But her daughter, who will no longer take over Zelda’s lifework. Coming to terms with that is a lot. So much that Hilda is short of words to comfort her. Letting the words spoken aloud linger in the room.

They lie in Sabrina’s room and let the silence consume them. Both sisters are in their thoughts. Deep and dark. Too soon Hilda’s breath flattens, and Zelda shakes her sister awake before her slumber gets too deep. Dr. Cee must not spend a night without his wife. The man gives so much in this marriage; he should not need to share his wife at night as well. With a deep sigh, they get off the bed, but Zelda holds Hilda back.

“Your husband. He’s-“ Zelda says. “You chose him well. He’s not only a supportive husband but very considerate with all the family.”

“I knew you’d get along if you gave him a chance,” Hilda says in-between yawns, stretching like a cat.

“He’s not bad. For a mortal,” Zelda teases, fluffing up the cushions.

“He likes you too, you know.” Hilda straightens the bed covers. It looks as if they have never rested there.

“Well, there’s nothing repulsive about me.”

“No, everybody finds you delightful the second they meet you.”

“Exactly.” Teasing. It is so easy with her sister. A way to mutually understand one another.

Without Hilda, Zelda and Ambrose were lost. Immersing themselves in work and hiding away from the world, shouldering the blame for the tragic events.

Things changed with Hilda in the house, at least for Zelda. Her sister is great support. And once again it shows that Zelda is dependent on her. At the same time, Hilda is dependent on her as well. Dependent on taking care of her sister and her nephew, so she wouldn’t have the time to deal with her feelings.

They bid their goodnights to one another and close to the door to the room, which can cause great suffering.

The day has been busy, but a lot has been accomplished. Survival for instance, as Dr. Cee has put it so fittingly.

When Zelda hits the sheets of her own bed, she feels the exhaustion of the day in her bones. Her limps heavy with fatigue. She should better take care of her body, but at the moment her mind, her well-being is a priority.

Even with her eyes closed she can sense her familiar’s closeness.

“Tom, darling, come here,” she whispers into the darkness.

She cradles Vinegar Tom to her chest, burying her nose in his fur. He is a real comfort to her. Zelda slips into sleep more easily. This night she does not waste a thought on her darker emotions.

Morning comes and starts like the one before. Only Hilda and her husband await her in the kitchen. Apparently, the conversation Zelda has shared with Ambrose has not done the trick. She will have to talk to him again today.

She sits down at her usual spot and glances at the paper which lies on the spot that will never be occupied again. It is a German newspaper. Zelda cannot wait to dive into the news. She lights the first cigarette of the day. She watches as Vinegar Tom goes to his basket, where Salem already welcomes him.

Before she can even drift off in her thoughts or start her first cup of coffee, the kitchen fills up with another person arriving for breakfast.

“Morning, Aunties.”

Ambrose shuffles in somewhat downcast, but at least he is down in the kitchen and up at a suitable time. It is progress and a rather huge accomplishment. Ambrose has left his room and actually joins them for breakfast this morning. He wears his pajamas and a morning coat, but they are different from the ones he has worn yesterday.

“Morning, lamb,” Hilda greets him, a beaming smile on her face. She is unable to hide it. Zelda enjoys that look on her face. One less worry for her.

Dr. Cee jumps from the bench. “It’s all yours,” he says to Ambrose and picks up his almost empty cup of tea. As quickly as he gets up, he stumbles over his own feet again. And once again, he drops the teacup and it falls into its pieces.

Again, Zelda cannot hold back a laugh. Ambrose’s eyes open in surprise and he laughs too. Hilda is again more concerned, but Cee smirks as he picks up the shards of the cup.

“Next time, you can just say that you hate the cups,” Zelda taunts jokingly.

“I’ll remember that,” Dr. Cee answers, widening his eyes, the smirk still on his face. He puts the remains of the cup on the counter for Hilda or Zelda to fix with a spell later.

“Bye, my love,” Hilda says to her husband and then places a plate full of pancakes in front of Ambrose. She sits down on her chair and takes a deep breath. She rests her head into both of her hands and beams at her nephew.

Zelda picks up the newspaper, content with the light mood of this morning.

“Finally...” Hilda muses as Zelda lowers her paper enquiringly. A look and understanding between the three is shared. Just a couple of weeks ago they shared their loss and deep emotions at this table. Now, they are reunited.

Zelda smiles softly at both of them and lifts her newspaper again. She then smiles brighter, hidden behind the barrier. If she is strong enough to laugh, perhaps she is even strong enough to walk down the path she has avoided these past weeks.

Maybe one day soon, she could ask for Baron Samedi’s help and see past her pride and hurt feelings.

For now, she concentrates on laughing and surviving another day.

**Author's Note:**

> This story grew longer and longer, way longer than anticipated. Over the last couple of weeks it just took a toll of its own. I incorporated so much, like the little tidbits we got from Lucy and Miranda's live, or their IG accounts with the wonderful BTS photos. I got inspired by tumblr posts or conversations or the bloopers reel. The story means a lot to me. It contains so much of my CAOS feelings. I hope it comes across.
> 
> I must admit, I'm toying with an idea for a third part in this post-part 4 series. I have very few snippets written, but tbh I don't know if I can do it justice. I have such a specific way I want this to play out. I will try my best. I can't promise if that idea can make it to the virtual paper.
> 
> For now, thank you so much for reading and if you have enjoyed it, let me know in the comments. It's very appreciated. xxx


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